


false awakening

by singlemalter



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Inception Fusion, M/M, Minor Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:35:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singlemalter/pseuds/singlemalter
Summary: Keke Rosberg is dead, and an English businessman wants to seize the opportunity to force his heir into a merger. That responsibility falls, though not by choice, upon the shoulders of Daniel Ricciardo and his point man.





	false awakening

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my baby.
> 
> Also yes, I will finish _without apology_ someday, don’t ask.

Daniel’s finger lies on the frame of his Beretta, heartbeat sounding much louder than his actual steps. He tiptoes around the corner, the sluggish tick of his clock feeling faster with every movement, and raises his gun to eye level.

No company.

“Clear,” he tells Max, who immediately deploys the PASIV briefcase, whipping out the IV lines. Daniel kneels next to him. “Do it quick.”

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Max huffs. He gently pushes Daniel on to the marble floor and squeezes the cannula. “Close your eyes.”

Daniel obeys. The thin needles sink into the tender skin of his wrist. The last thing he hears is Max saying, “Sweet dreams.”

* * *

He hadn’t expected Lewis’ subconscious to be easy to sneak into, but this degree of militarisation is, quite frankly, fucking ridiculous. The only comfort he has is knowing anyone else would be unfit for the job.

He dodges bullets left and right until he reaches a broken-down chapel at the end of a road.

Daniel kicks the doors open—he’s never cared much about politeness, and etiquette inside a target’s dream is far from being the biggest of his worries. When he steps inside, the building is clearly larger than it was on the outside, an Ash Tree Lane type of aberration that sits heavy in his stomach.

A man clad in a white robe kneels in the very middle of the nave. Daniel walks up to him, presses the barrel to the back of his head, and nothing about this feels right.

“You are here. How was the trip down?”

Daniel startles. “You know.”

The man turns to face him, unbothered by the gun pointed directly at his head. 

Lewis Hamilton is known to be a man of many words, but he stays silent, staring at Daniel with the same amount of guile as a kid caught red-handed.

“You know,” Daniel repeats. “How did you know?”

“There is a reason you are here,” Lewis says. “Did you think you would get so far into my head without a little help?”

The jab digs deep; this is Daniel’s field, he’s the best there is. “Then why’d you help me?”

“I don’t know, man,” says Lewis, before pulling out a gun from under the thick layers of his mantle and shooting Daniel through the chest. “Maybe I wanted something from you.”

* * *

Daniel jolts awake and immediately tears the IV out. “We have to go,” he chokes out, phantom pain burning his lungs. “He knows about the job. Let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t wait for Max to react before putting a bullet through his head. Max’s body falls limply on to the ground, and the twist in his gut is so strong Daniel has to glance at his pinky to make sure, just in case.

Rushed footsteps come towards him. Ten people at least, twenty at worst. He can’t fight them off, not on his own. It’s pointless to try; their extraction’s already busted.

He holds the Beretta to his head, eyes firmly shut, and shoots himself.

* * *

“Are you taking the piss?” Daniel whisper-shouts, gripping Nico’s wrist so tight his knuckles go white. He sees Lewis’ unconscious body twitch next to them and gets up, hand on Max’s shoulder to pull him out of his drug-induced haze.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Nico says. 

“I swear, I’m never having you on a team again,” Daniel says. “Let’s go, Max.”

Max follows him through several passenger cars before they settle for the buffet. It’s thankfully empty, and the LED panel above the counter informs their next stop is close.

Daniel scratches the back of his neck with a sigh. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. God, fucking Hulk.”

“I know,” Max says. He’s not particularly good at commiserating. “What are you going to do now?”

“Run,” Daniel scoffs. “It’s not like I can stick around waiting for Marko to send his guys after me, can I? I’ll probably go hide somewhere I haven’t been to in a while.”

“The Netherlands?” Max offers, like he always does when Daniel brings up this subject.

“Not unless you want your dad to be killed, no.”

Curiously enough, Max doesn’t say anything to that.

* * *

Daniel kicks off his shoes at the entrance of his Monaco apartment and flops on to the couch, not bothering to switch on the lights. He won’t be long.

He considers retirement for the billionth time in thirty days. It’s a laughable notion; what else in the world is there for him, besides teaching school-aged kids how to play the drums? He wonders when, exactly, his life went to shit so fast. Maybe it was during the Horner job—sick bastard dragged them all down with him.

Someone slams the buzzer once, twice, and Daniel closes his eyes in exasperation. He drags himself out of the sofa and looks through the spyhole. It’s Max, because of course it is—the kid’s unable to obey the unwritten rule giving Daniel a post-job period of two days without seeing _anyone_ involved in the dream sharing business.

“Hey,” Max says, walking right past him and taking a spot on an old armchair. “How are you doing?”

“Worse now that you’re here,” Daniel lies. Deep down, he’s a little glad Max insists on checking on his wellbeing after a mission goes south, which seems to happen increasingly more often these days. On occasion, he’ll bring a box of assorted Aussie candy bars; this time around, he’s empty-handed, armed with nothing but a kind smile.

“You love it when I visit,” says Max. He takes an abandoned tattoo gun from the table, inspecting it carefully. “Thinking of getting yourself a new totem?”

Daniel snorts. “That’s been here since I left. Wouldn’t be a bad idea, though.”

“Maybe you could get some tally marks. One for every time you decide to kill me all of a sudden.”

The statement would sound absurd to a layman’s ears, but it gets a genuine laugh out of Daniel, who says, “I wouldn’t need to do that if you researched our targets better.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault you got busted?” Max says. He raises his eyebrows. “Do I have to talk about…”

“I know, I know, Steiner,” Daniel concedes with a sigh. “Um, I’ve gotta pack my things, you know how it is. Do you want a drink?”

“No, no, I’m fine! I just wanted to see how—”

_Happiness by the Kilowatt_ suddenly interrupts their conversation. Daniel swears loudly, rushing to the coffee table and frowning at the unknown caller ID. He picks up anyway. “Hello?”

“Be in the rooftop in five minutes,” a gruff voice says. “Marko is coming for you, both of you. Come with us.”

They hang up with no further explanation.

Daniel turns to Max. “Did you catch that?”

“I heard Marko’s name, that’s enough,” Max sighs, hand already on the bridge of his nose, an adorable tic he’s had since Daniel first met him. “Who was that?”

“I don’t _know_,” Daniel groans. “German guy, I think. Said we should go to the helipad up top or deal with Marko. Fuck!”

Max gets up, reaching out for Daniel’s shaky wrists. “Hey,” Max says, trying his hardest to convey a peace of mind he doesn’t have. “We’ll be fine, okay? It’s you and me. They can’t kill the two of us.”

Daniel raises his right hand and shows Max the number three inked into his finger. “They can,” he says. “No waking up from this one.”

“We won’t need to. Come on, I have my stuff in the car, I’ll meet you here. Okay?”

It’s so damn silly, taking orders from—a _kid_, that’s what Max is, really; yet Daniel lets out a nervous laugh and follows his lead. Not like he has any other choice.

* * *

They stand on the last step of the emergency stairs leading up to the terrace, shoulders pressed together in the narrow space, and Max gingerly links their pinky fingers. _For reassurance_, Daniel tells himself; he isn’t sure he could deal with anything more meaningful than that. 

Max pushes the fire door open at the same time a chopper lands in front of them. Neither recognises the logo emblazoned on its side; Max is honestly just glad it’s not one of Marko’s rides.

Two men, one with snobby glasses sliding down his nose and the other holding a clipboard, step out. They march halfway towards Daniel and Max and stop—willing to negotiate on the literal middle ground, then. How impossibly kind. 

“It’s fine,” Max breathes out shakily. “Let’s go.”

Something about Wayne Gretzky and the shots you don’t take. Bite the bullet, boy.

Daniel takes the first step, if only to encourage Max, and walks until he’s looking the two lackeys in the eyes. “Who are you?” he asks, barely audible over the wind blowing around them.

“Doesn’t matter,” says the man in the glasses. Daniel kind of wants to punch him in the throat. “My boss wants to have a word with you.”

For the umpteenth time in his short career, Daniel finds himself in zugzwang. “Okay,” he says, risking a sideways glance for a second opinion, though Max is so impassive he can’t garner anything at all. “Where are they?”

The man with the clipboard gestures to the helicopter behind them, eyebrows raised mockingly. “Do you need me to walk you there?” he says, and Daniel immediately recognises him as the person from the phone call.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Daniel replies. He squeezes Max’s shoulder. “Time to meet our new sugar daddy.”

* * *

The person who greets them with wide arms is one Lewis Hamilton, who’s wearing a tacky outfit nothing like the priestlike white robe Daniel remembers. “Man, I didn’t expect you to actually come,” he says.

“Just tell us what you want,” Max demands. Realising his mistake, he adds, “Please.”

“Charming,” Lewis says. “I’m interested in your services.”

Daniel snorts. “After we walked into your mind and stole secret documents?”

“You didn’t take anything I didn’t want you to. What’s the point of that information you acquired without the rest to make sense of it? It’s useless.” 

“He’s right, mate,” Max says, and Daniel hates him for the briefest of moments. “The data was incomplete.”

“Your… partner agrees with me,” Lewis points out. “I want you to perform an inception. In exchange, I promise you won’t have any issues with Marko.”

Max squints, putting on his best too-good-to-be-true face. “What?”

“Wait,” Daniel says. “You force me to come here, threaten me with death—”

“I offered you a way out of a tough situation,” Lewis interrupts.

“—and ask me to do an impossible job, or I’ll die,” he continues. “Do you know what that sounds like?”

“Not impossible.”

Daniel turns to Max. “What?”

“Inception. It’s not impossible,” Max repeats. “Putting an idea deep in someone’s mind, we can do that. It’s just the reverse process. I know some guys who can help.”

“And I know _my_ guys, Max, don’t get caught up in a stupid idea.”

“Daniel,” Max says, eyes pleading, and Daniel listens, he always does. “I can’t risk being caught by Marko. Please. We have to take the chance.”

A chill trickles down Daniel’s spine. Of course. Lewis’ gaze on them is uncomfortable, but he leans in and hugs Max. “Okay,” he whispers, patting his back before pulling away. He turns to Lewis, filled with a resolution only his point man’s utter desperation could inspire. “Okay, we’ll do it.”

* * *

During the helicopter ride to Milan, where Daniel’s contacts are (mostly) all located, Lewis calls, “Bono?” One of his guards hands him a rolled-up newspaper, which he passes on to Daniel. “Have a read. This is your target.”

Lewis’ finger lands on a picture: a young man in a crisp suit, a leaf-shaped trophy in his hands. Next to him are an older couple—parents, perhaps. 

_Keke Rosberg, founder of Greentech Group, dead at 70_.

Daniel whistles under his breath—he’s not big on technology news, but anyone not living under a rock knows this name. “So you want us to get his kid?”

“Nico’s been insecure about the future of the family business for a while,” Lewis says. “We’ve discussed a merger, which is—it sounds obvious that I would say this, man, but trust me, I wouldn’t lie to him, even if… the point is, a merger is better for Greentech and for my business. He doesn’t even want to think about it because of some things in the past, and I want you to insert that idea into his head. He had a hard relationship with Keke. That’s where you come in.”

Max leans over Daniel’s shoulder to analyse the newspaper. “His son, Nico Rosberg, is set to take the reins, effective immediately,” he reads. “How can we even find this guy? He’s probably already hiding out to mourn.” 

“I know Nico,” Lewis sighs. “He’ll be on a flight tomorrow morning. He doesn’t like flying at night.”

“A flight which we have no tickets to,” Daniel says incredulously. “And that we have to bribe the crew of so they’ll let us drug and dream share with the heir of a huge conglomerate. Did you plan for that?”

“Don’t worry,” Lewis says. “I bought the airline.”

**Author's Note:**

> A false awakening is when you wake up from a dream inside a dream, leading you to think you’re awake. Very self-explanatory name.
> 
> The Beretta Px4 Storm is the gun Leonardo DiCaprio carries throughout the actual movie.
> 
> Ash Tree Lane is a reference to Mark Z. Danielewski’s House of Trees, which is, incidentally, the best novel ever written.
> 
> Greentech is actually Nico Rosberg’s green energy festival. I just stole the name because I’m lazy.
> 
> Lewis’ “I bought the airline” moment is taken directly from Saito in the source movie. 
> 
> I’m still singlemalter on Tumblr.


End file.
